Lyrium Prison
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: Three years ago, Hawke's mother was slain. Turning to the templars, she became a member of their ranks, but with it came the lyrium. In that final moment, she sided with the mages to protect her sister. Now, on the run from the Chantry, the consequences of that decision have caught up with her. Fic about addiction. Possible triggers.
1. Part 1

_A/N: So a lot of people have always wondered about lyrium withdrawal and there's never really anything written on it. I decided to go with a dark fic, addressing the addiction behind it. It was supposed to only be approximately 6000 words, but there was no way something like this could be put in such few words, or at least, it seemed that way as I was writing it. So it will be broken into two parts. Hopefully everyone enjoys it, don't forget to let me know! I am finding this to be such a challenge to write, it certainly is out of my typical genre. So hopefully it is successful. _

_Let me know what you think, okay? And the second part should be released in a few days. Thanks everyone! Enjoy!_

* * *

_**Lyrium Prison**_

_part one_

**-.-**

**Hawke**

**The Problem**

The Champion of Kirkwall - that was her title.

It felt more like a chain, lengthened by the many links of pain dragging at her feet. What had it taken to become the Champion? _Everything_. Her brother had been the first to fall as payment for her ambitions. Pretty words and sentiments had been offered. They'd meant _nothing_ beyond the wasted air it took to speak them.

Then came her mother. Her _mother_ - at the hands of a vile mage that consumed the woman that had held her daughter in her arms and offered her hope when all looked lost. She'd turned to a friend then - _never_ would she let any other mage lay waste another family as he had done hers. She'd begun to learn, to train, to expand her skills into a weapon designed to stand against blood mages.

The qunari? Nothing more than a mild hindrance. Lives had been lost, blood had been spilled, but she'd walked away the Champion - victor over the wicked Arishok. He'd simply seen what she had; rot, destruction, misery.

Next was Anders. The _only other _mage beyond her sister that she felt she could trust in this perverse world and what had he done? He'd razed the Kirkwall Chantry and proven every accusation ever made against the mages. He'd forced the Knight-Commander's hand toward the Right of Annulment and she'd taken great pleasure in following through. Hawke _should_ have been on the side of the templars, it was where she belonged - she was a member of their ranks, after all. But her sister...

Bethany.

Regardless of all that had happened, Hawke could not allow for her sister to be slain, and especially not as a punishment for _Anders' _actions. Her blade had slid like butter through his back, regardless of the turmoil she'd felt. It had killed something within her to murder him - Anders... her friend. With the spirit within, she was surprised he hadn't fought back but it was another step to his cause - to make him the martyr. The fate she'd delivered him, she couldn't allow to happen to her sister. So she'd fought with the mages, saved what lives she could even as they turned to blood magic, one by one. Even the First Enchanter. Her sister had been horrified - Hawke had simply nodded. There was Meredith's proof. There was _everyone's _proof.

The Knight-Commander. When Hawke learned of her madness - witnessed the delirium twisting her thoughts and controlling her actions, death had been the only option. But never had she thought Meredith's death would have such consequences.

Never.

**-.-**

The rocking of the boat coiled her stomach and Hawke's fist pressed into her mouth as she fought against the bile sluicing to the surface. For two days she'd been fighting off this nausea. Isabela's boat was supposed to be one of the smoothest on the seas. If that was the case, she feared for the other ships because this was plain torture. Isabela had suggested she watch the horizon to help soothe the motion sickness. While made with good intentions, the words did nothing to actually abate her illness.

"Hawke," a deep voice called her attention away from the sea.

Her hooded gaze dragged over the wooden planks until settling on the elf hovering behind her. Even aboard the ship where only they, her sister, Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and her crew were present, he still donned his armor. The sight of him decked out in his clawed gauntlets and spiked pauldrons brought a faint smile to her lips.

"You must eat," Fenris grumbled, his arms dropping down onto the ship railings.

_Food_. She heaved with the image, fingers blooming against her lips. Oh, _Maker_... The sight and scent of food had her stomach curdling painfully before she typically retreated below deck.

"Hawke-"

"Fenris, please," she whispered, her voice a pale imitation. "I-I can't..."

"This is more than seasickness," he commented, concern drawing his brows down.

She waved a hand idly through the hair, dismissing his worries with little more than a thought. Her stomach and the sea roiled about as one - it was seasickness. Little could be done for it until they took to land.

He caught her hand within his own and wound his fingers through hers. Twined together, he swept his other over her brow, his eyes slitting. "You are burning up."

She pursed her lips and with a sigh, shifted her hip against the rail. "It's nothing, Fenris, honestly. Not even worth troubling yourself over."

"You are mistaken," he remarked, his emerald gaze burning into hers. "You are _always _trouble."

She choked on a sharp breath but it was laughter that fell from her lips. "Gee, _thanks_. I'll try not to burden you further."

"Regrettable," he sighed as he lifted her fingers to his mouth and dragged them one by one against his lips. "I have come to appreciate your particular flavor of trouble."

Her heart skipped a beat or two and she had to remind herself how to breathe. It wasn't often that Fenris said such things and whenever he did, it rendered her speechless - likely his intent, the sneaky little elf. Her fingers curled over his cheek and she leaned in, claiming his mouth. Firm hands dragged down the length of her back, settling around her hips as she folded into his chest. The one advantage to being on Isabela's ship was the lack of interruptions. In her estate, any hour of the night people came a-knocking, demanding her assistance with some matter or another. Here, it was simply them and the sea - regardless of how ill the rocking made her. She could recall the same sensations when crossing from Ferelden over to Kirkwall, but after six years, the details had grown hazy.

His arms tightened around her, pressing her firmly against him, and reclaiming her full attention. Long fingers curled over her rear, kneading ever so gently, sparking coils of warmth in her stomach that abated her sickness. Hawke melted against him, his mouth muffling her contented purr as she wound her arms around his neck. Those sinful hands grazed up her side and he ensnared her hair, locking her head in place as he devoured her. Heat crept over his skin, the lambent glow of his markings visible even behind closed eyes. In their past, this might have frightened her, but she knew now it was more to do with a loss of control rather than rage. It fed something within her, realizing that she affected him so strongly.

"Sister," a soft voice impeded them.

Fenris' lips froze against hers, his entire body turning to stone, the illumination from his markings extinguishing in a heartbeat.

"Bethany," Hawke mumbled around his mouth, her fingers still threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Perhaps this isn't the best time."

"I-I brought you some water, and thought maybe I could try to help you with your sickness..."

She could _hear_ the blush to her sister's voice but she was more concerned with the one tight against her. Fenris' hands fell away and he pushed away from Hawke, stalking to the furthest corner of the bow while a string of Arcanum epithets ripped free of his thinned lips. Hawke bit back her chuckle as she tracked his movements, wincing when his hands clutched tightly around the rails, his profile displaying a dark-as-night scowl.

"Maker," Bethany gasped. "That... does that _always_ happen?"

"Fenris is quite discreet," Hawke murmured under her breath. "He would prefer our private moments remain as such."

"Not _that_, though that was something else as well. I meant his... well, those - uh-"

"His markings?" Hawke assisted her.

Bethany simply nodded, her dark, wide eyes trailing after Fenris.

"Well, that would be private now, wouldn't it?" she scolded gently.

"Right, sorry. Water?" her sister proffered, lifting her hand to showcase the small cup of sloshing liquid.

Hawke's fingers rose to her brow, rubbing out the creases forming between her eyes. "We're on an ocean of water making me sick and you thought to bring me more?" she chuckled.

Her sister's familiar laugh blended with hers. "Perhaps not then. But I have something else to offer as well."

Hawke shifted against the railing, leaning bodily against it. Fenris straightened, a scowl still lining his face as he took in the precarious position she reposed in. Her lips crooked - he did say he enjoyed her particular flavor of trouble. If she fell overboard, it would give him something to do. And she knew just how much he adored playing the hero. Though, she supposed he would prefer she didn't put herself in danger to begin with. But what was so dangerous about leaning against a railing? It was perfectly steady, probably even steady enough for -

"Sister," Bethany's voice impeded the colorful images taking shape behind her mind's eyes. For a moment, a curse hovered on the edge of Hawke's lips. She'd rather enjoyed that little image without her sister ruining it. For a single moment, she'd focused on something other than the nausea.

Blinking, Hawke turned her eyes back to her sister to find her dangling a small package of something before her face.

"_Oh!_" Hawke gasped. "Crackers!"

For the first time since boarding this blighted ship, Hawke's mouth began to water.

"Mother told me she used to devour these endlessly when she was pregnant with Carver and I."

Hawke's hand halted mid air. "I'm _not_ pregnant, Bethany. It's just _seasickness_." How many times did she have to say the same thing over and over again?

"Oh, I know," her sister chuckled. "Isabela and Varric had a bet and they came to me. A quick little -" Bethany fell silent at the mute look sketched into Hawke's face. "Um, nevermind."

"Give me those," Hawke growled, snatching them quickly from her sister's fingers. "You tell those two to mind their own business."

Fenris pushed off the railing and started back toward them, Hawke's tone clearly the catalyst for him to join in. At his lifted brow, she shook her head before tearing into the package.

"I thought you were not hungry," he mused quietly, flicking a quick glance at Bethany.

"Crackers aren't food," she informed him. "They're magic."

"Is that a fact," he ruminated as he leaned on the railing next to her, the gentle sea breeze whisking through the soft fringe of his hair.

Hawke devoured the tiny pieces of bliss, praying to the Maker that it would help settle her stomach. With another week of seafare ahead of them, she certainly was not looking forward to being ill the entire time.

* * *

**Fenris**

**The Fix  
**

He took the corner at an easy pace. The ship was only so large; clearly Hawke was somewhere and it was simply a matter of patience. Oddly enough, their stateroom was the last place he thought to find her; below deck tended to exacerbate her condition. He pushed the door open with one finger and slid within the tight quarters, finding her stooped over the small writing desk. From her profile, a look of consternation shadowed her face. Occasionally, she would lower the quill and stretch or rub out her fingers before taking the plume up again and returning to her task. So lost to her ministrations, she did not appear aware of his presence. Never had he witnessed her suffer under her letters before and his eyes narrowed on her hands as she continued to knead them.

"Hawke?" he called to her, his hip pushing him off the wall as he delved deeper into their shared room.

She startled, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the quill before dropping it. Her elbow very nearly knocked into the ink bottle and only his skilled hands managed to snatch it out of the way before a sea of black stole over her pages.

Both fell completely still, staring down at the vellum spread over the table top. Never had he seen her quite so clumsy. Hawke was graceful and agile in a way many couldn't compare to. It was uncommon to see such a thing in a warrior.

She shifted, her fingers sweeping over her face. It wasn't until she lowered them back down to the table that he noticed the faint tremor working through her slender digits. She moved to brush away the quill but her fingers weren't cooperating.

"Hawke," he grumbled, about to reach for her when she shoved back from the chair and rose.

"Just writing a letter to Aveline," she mumbled as she dropped down onto their bed and swept up her pack resting haphazardly against it. She flipped open the cover to her bag and dug within the depths, searching for _something_. Her other hand flew to her head, cradling it loosely with pinched eyes. From this angle, he caught sight of a fine sheen beading her brow and clinging to the loose strands of hair curling around her face. Fenris' breath caught at the sight of her. She was most _certainly_ ill.

His chin drew over to the letter, noting the scratched letters instead of her usual elegantly looped script. He turned back, his stomach knotting at the sight of her. He'd never seen Hawke quite so... inept.

"Do you require assistance?" he questioned lightly, his face furrowing at the sight of her unstable exertions. He knew she was suffering from seasickness, but such an illness did not produce these symptoms. She looked as though she was about to drop on the spot.

For the past day, she'd been avoiding them, but he'd thought nothing of it, simply believed her to be resting. She certainly required it.

"_No_. Just... go away," she snapped, her palm pressing into her eyes. His brow cocked, shocked at the sharp tone. His Hawke rarely spoke to anyone in such a manner, least of all him. He stepped toward her, stilling when she flinched away once a stray band of light suddenly spilled over her. Scowling, Fenris instead crossed to the window and snapped the drapes down, blanketing the room in an almost dusk.

Her shoulders sagged even as her fingers continued to tear through the satchel. A crushing silence fell between them and he watched, unsure of what exactly she was searching for. Eventually, she sighed, her face crumpling with displeasure and she pushed to her feet, staggering toward the hall. If he did not know any better, he might have thought Hawke was drunk from the teetering steps and clouded eyes.

She reached for the door, missing narrowly and stumbling forward. Fenris instantly took to closing the distance, reaching for it. Perhaps she should not be leaving the cabin in such a state, but he would not force her to stay. His fingers slid past her arm and it was only when she flinched and jumped away from him that his eyes narrowed. Not once in their years together had Hawke ever shown such an aversion to him, and he turned to her, his face a grim mask.

"Hawke, what is wrong?" he demanded in a low voice, his hand now leaning against the door to hold it shut.

"Nothing," she breathed. "I just need some fresh air. I'm feeling a little... cramped, is all."

Isabela's voice rung through his head, words of cabin fever and restlessness. From what talk he'd caught from her, this uneasiness was certainly an indication. The uncomfortable coiling in his stomach eased and with a nod, he pulled open the door, about to let her past, when a faint flash of blue caught his eye. Something crystalline was clutched in her hand and without thinking, Fenris reached down and snatched the vial from her grip.

He did not need to lift the glass flask to know what it was, not with the lyrium branded into his flesh singing the moment his fingers sealed around the container. He drew it up between them anyway, peering queerly at the liquid sloshing within. Why Hawke was carrying lyrium was beyond him, and he let his questioning gaze linger to her.

"Just give it back, Fenris," she mumbled, her string of words hardly coherent.

At that instant, everything fell into place and he sucked in a sharp breath. Her weak frame was supported by the wall, and her shaking hands were constantly on the move, running erratic paths over her neck, down her chest, across her waist, and back again. Even her throat worked furiously, she swallowed again and again, as though she was parched. He continued his survey, noting how wildly her gaze darted around the room, landing everywhere but him.

"Oh, Hawke," he whispered, his wide eyes lifting to hers.

How had he missed her diminishing state? He'd given her the day to herself, thinking rest would be best, but seeing her now - his heart beat like a drum, hammering heavily in his chest.

Constantly surrounded by Danarius and his mages, Fenris was quite familiar with lyrium withdrawal. He'd watched as they'd eyed him like a desired prize, perusing the product burned into his flesh. But at the moment, none of that made any difference. All he could focus on was the fact that Hawke was ingesting lyrium and his markings lit with white fire the moment the realization sank in.

* * *

**Hawke**

**The Need  
**

She couldn't even look at him.

Her head was pounding and the furious glow set ablaze before her was only making it worse. Maker, she could hardly find enough breath to speak, let alone crack open her eyes. Even behind her lids, the light was blinding.

A faint whimper slipped out of her throat and she dropped back against the wall, covering her face with her hands. It dampened the effect, at least to the point where she could think without wanting to scream in agony.

"Fenris," she moaned, just wanting the throbbing to end.

This was _not _seasickness. A day ago, she'd finally made the connection as to what this actually was. And when the realization sunk in, so had the paralyzing fear. She'd joined the templar ranks the day after her mother's murder - absolutely determined to ensure something like that never happened to another family. Meredith had been more than ecstatic. The up and coming Marian Hawke, joining the templars. What citizen wouldn't sit up and take notice to such a thing? Hawke had known she was being used but at that moment she hadn't cared. The lyrium had been the first demand of Meredith. Along with the promise not to speak of it to any other recruit. With Hawke's fingers reaching into every little scuffle and incident within Kirkwall, Meredith preached that she needed to be at her absolute strongest. To quicken her templar abilities, to strengthen her newly learned skills, she was to ingest lyrium. At first it had been to a schedule. Before she'd finally collapsed into her bed at night, Bodahn would mix her a drink and in the liquid went. But it had quickly grown into so much more than that. And with time came more lyrium, most times straight from the vial. Soon, she began to take notice if she couldn't stop to take another dose; shakiness, dizziness, sometimes incoherent thoughts. More than once the appearance of her father had brought her deadly still, staring until the shadow whisked away or the actual person took back their proper form. She'd simply upped the dosage on Meredith's assurance that it was normal and the insistence that the lyrium was needed.

Then the day had come where she'd had to face off against her Knight-Commander. Meredith had spoken of consequences and Hawke hadn't understood, not until they received word that the Chantry was searching for her, to question her about the Kirkwall happenings. There were even whispers that they were holding her to blame and wished to bring justice upon her. Her lyrium dependency hadn't been a thought, not compared to the idea that the Chantry was hunting her - until aboard Isabela's boat. The first day passed, then the second, and the nausea had set in with a vengeance. Another two days passed and it was like nothing she'd ever experienced. Everything ached. And now, she couldn't even open her eyes and look at the one she loved, the pain was too much.

"You are taking lyrium," his voice thundered through her head and she cringed, pushing back into the wall as she fought desperately not to be there.

She didn't want to hear the enraged accusations and insults. It was part of the reason she'd never told him - or any other of her companions - that she was taking it. Most wouldn't understand the _need _to have justice done, to ensure no mage stepped out of line again. Her mother had been her last link to family with Bethany locked away in the tower - simply another reason to curse magic. When Fenris snarled about it, blaming it for every misdeed brought upon him, he couldn't have found someone more understanding than her. In her weaker moments, she wondered if that was the basis to their relationship. But she needed only to look at him and to have _him _look at _her_, to know that was foolish. Yet, she kept her dependency a secret.

"It was a necessity," her lips moved, but that was all she could string together.

"A necessity," he repeated in a very dark voice. One that forced her eyes open. At least his markings had quieted, but the contemptuous sneer twisting his face shredded through her chest as aptly as if it was his clawed hand.

"Fenris, please, I need-"

"Your drug?" he growled as he paced a fine line before her, his chin jerking over his shoulder to glare heatedly at her.

She dropped her gaze and continued to rub her brow, hoping to rid it of the writhen lines.

"I do not understand, Hawke," his voice was entirely too quiet and she lifted her chin, wincing when a flare of pain swept behind her eyes. For a moment, her vision swayed and she clutched at the wall with the hope of balancing herself. "Why did you keep this a secret?"

Why? _Why? _Her lips shaped words that never came out. There were many reasons - the primary answer being fear. Fear he would leave her, fear he wouldn't understand, fear she would stop, fear she wouldn't become a templar...

"Fenris," she finally managed to choke out, her fingers working down to her eyes and rubbing them furiously. "I can't - can't-"

"Can't think without your fix?" he snapped.

Fevered fingers curled around hers and she nearly sank into him until the chilled vial slapped down into her palm. Hawke's other hand fell away and she lowered her gaze, the sight of the sparkling liquid catching her breath. Just this one _more_, then she'd be able to think again, she'd be able to _explain_, but right now, she just needed - this... _just one more_.

A brisk wind whipped by her and she startled at the sound of the door slamming shut. Her chin jerked up and her eyes whipped around the room, but she was alone. She couldn't process that at the moment, not with the phial rolling between her fingers.

Hawke didn't even hesitate. She twisted off the cap and brought the smooth rim to her lips, tossing back the beryl substance in a single swallow.

* * *

**Fenris**

**The Anger  
**

"_Whoa_, Broody," Varric chuckled as he leapt out of Fenris' path. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Fenris bared his teeth as he attempted to step around the dwarf, very much not in the mood for his teasing banter or annoying quips. He needed air, he needed to be alone, and he knew if he said anything of the like to the dwarf, he would demand to know why. Secrecy was best, but Fenris should have known that even Varric could read through the silence.

"Something's wrong," Varric stated, curving around Fenris to peer down the hall. "No demons, no blood mages, and no Blondie, so you're going to have to give me a little more than snarls and sneers this time, I'm afraid."

"Move," Fenris growled, prepared to physically move the dwarf should he deny the order just given him.

"_Fenris, wait!"_

He tensed at the sound of her voice, as clear as bells. Quite the contrast to moments ago when she could hardly construct a sentence. How long had this been going on - that was what he suddenly wanted to know. Forgetting Varric's presence, he spun around and pinned her to the spot with a baleful glare.

"How long?" he demanded from her, his feet crossing the corridor until he stood before her, scowling at the sight of her beaded face. His anger swept over him quickly and his markings flashed. "Is this why you are with me?" he beseeched.

"What? Fenris -"

"Your own personal supply of lyrium," he growled, pacing before her once more. He couldn't stop it - any of it. His words, his motions, his rage, all of it. And he would have these answers, whether she wanted to provide them or not.

"Uh, elf, maybe you should calm down -"

Fenris ignored the dwarf and continued his track of the corridor, not that there was much room to navigate. He flicked another dark glance her way, noting the clarity in those sapphire depths. Her hands lay quiet at her side, her gaze uninhibited and trained on him. So she'd taken the lyrium.

"Fenris, no -"

He scoffed and spun in another tight circle, his clawed fingers clenching and releasing before retracting once more. Foul expletives spilled from his lips as he reared away from her, his tightened first slamming into the corridor wall. The spiked armor scarred into the wood and a bitter breath slipped past his lips when his knuckles split. Blood welled to the surface, painting his ivory markings scarlet, before dribbling down the side of his hand. It wasn't simply anger he was feeling, but it was enough to drive him a bit rabid. He knew of lyrium poisoning and withdrawal and everything inbetween.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he whipped around, white fire licking up his arm. But it was dark eyes staring up at him, peering out from a dwarven face.

"All right, I think we all just need to calm down." Varric glanced back over his shoulder toward Hawke. With his bands ignited, she paled until she was as white as a ghost. "Hawke, maybe you should return to your stateroom and let Broody and I talk for a bit?"

"But-"

"Please," Varric impeded her.

Their eyes locked for a moment until Hawke quickly dropped hers, her head bobbing sadly before she turned and slumped back toward their room.

"Great Ancestors," he mumbled the moment Hawke was out of range. "Please, _please_, tell me what I just witnessed did not actually happen."

"_Venhedis_," Fenris grumbled, his heart rate slowing now that she wasn't in sight, though his rage continued to spurn through him.

"Come on, elf, someone needs to tell me what is going on."

Fenris glowered threateningly. "Not a word of this goes in your books, dwarf."

"_Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks_, I would think _not! _Especially if what I think is happening is actually happening," his eyes lifted to Fenris' and he shrugged. "You know what I mean."

Fenris held his tongue, unsure of what to say. "Perhaps you should speak with Hawke," was all he offered before turning and storming off.

**-.-**

It took less time than Fenris thought it would for the dwarf to return. Unfortunately it was not only him, but Isabela, and Bethany as well, and all with such grim faces that it seemed the worst was confirmed.

The small table he sat at soon filled with people, and Isabela was very deliberate in her effort to sit next to him, something that at this moment, he did not find amusing.

"Lyrium," Fenris grumbled, pushing his wine glass away with one finger. From the looks sketched into their faces, they all knew. Whether Hawke had admitted it, or Varric filled in the blanks, remained in the air.

"Lyrium," Varric repeated.

"I knew they gave it to the templars," Bethany whispered with a frightful air. "But I never knew Marian was taking it."

Fenris' jaw clenched. So that was how it started. An internal war waged within him. Part of him was relieved that it had started _after_ they had shared their first night together, but the other part was not. She'd been a templar for three years, which meant she'd been dependant upon the substance for three years.

"What's the big deal here, people?" Isabela chirped. "So she's been taking lyrium."

Fenris resorted to grinding his teeth to keep from biting the pirate's head off.

"The big deal is that Marian no longer has a supplier to feed her the stuff," Bethany whispered, her dark eyes flitting around the table.

"Aveline," Fenris stated matter-of-factly. "In our room, Hawke was writing her a letter."

"She would have access to Cullen," Varric murmured, his head dipping as he sighed into his hand. "It's likely she'd intended to procure more that way."

"_Fasta vaas!_" Fenris shouted, his fist slamming down on the small table they surrounded. He rocked to his feet and returned to pacing, snarling and growling Arcanum invectives under his breath.

"I've seen templars in the throes of lyrium withdrawal, elf," Varric snapped in a voice quite unlike anything Fenris had ever heard from him. It struck a chord and he forced himself to breathe evenly, to calm the internal struggle. "Be angry later. This is serious. Hawke needs us."

He spun on his heel, his gaze drifting over the table. A range of emotions swept over their faces. "Serious, how?" he demanded. He'd only witnessed mages suffer beneath any form of lyrium poisoning. Would it be different with Hawke? She wasn't a mage, but lyrium was a strange substance. The impending silence only fueled his anger and he swept forward, about to demand answers when the dwarf sighed and dropped his gaze into his lap.

"Look, elf. Templars are fed this shit to keep them in line. The Chantry needed an army, and how do you think they keep them in line? They're given an addictive substance that the Chantry controls. What you _think_ happens when they try to kick it?"

"Why would she hide this?" he demanded, unsure if he would be able to control the rage churning within.

This time he was met with a sad chuckle. "Could you tell your lyrium branded lover that you are ingesting the same substance that was branded into his flesh? I want you to think this through," Varric stated clearly, shifting in his seat until his arms rested atop the table. His dark eyes pierced through Fenris and he held the stare, waiting to hear what the dwarf had to say. "Before you go off on your next righteous tirade. You two are no different-"

Fenris immediately fired up, but it was Varric's turn to slam his hand down on the wooden table, glaring heatedly at him. "_Listen_ to me. Do you remember how Hawke reacted to Leandra's death?"

Even Bethany's head lifted at this and Fenris grimaced before he grumbled. "Yes."

"She was incoherent, she was _angry_," Varric continued. "She blamed mages and magic for what happened." Bethany's breath caught and Varric winced. "Sorry, Sunshine. She went tearing into the Gallows and the first thing she did was sign up as a templar."

Fenris nodded, unsure of where the dwarf was going with this.

"Danarius forced those markings into your flesh. Do you think Meredith was any different?"

Bethany gasped, her fingers flying to her lips. Apparently she understood something that he did not.

"Look, I'm not saying my information is accurate, a lot of what I gather is hearsay. But most of those I talk to assured me that templars did not begin ingesting lyrium until their final vows were taken. And here comes Hawke, the one Meredith is watching most closely, demanding to be made a templar. With the dire situation developing between the mages and the templars. Don't you think Meredith would have jumped on that the first chance she got? Hawke offered herself to the Knight-Commander and the woman took full advantage, giving Hawke lyrium so that she'd have her under her thumb."

"Hawke is under no one's thumb," Fenris snarled, spinning on his heel before returning to pacing.

"Exactly so," Varric nodded. "But I'm sure Meredith's intentions were the same regardless. This was her chance to control Hawke, even before she was made Champion. Give her the lyrium, instate her as a templar, and deny the Champion what she needs most should she get out of hand. It was a _chain_, elf," Varric dragged out his last words and Fenris recoiled as though he'd been slapped. "A collar in which to drag her around and force Hawke to do what the Knight-Commander bid."

"Varric," Bethany whispered, yet they all heard it. "Just tell us what needs to be done."

"We need to get her off this stuff, before it's too late." He turned back to Fenris with a creased brow. "Shit, elf, it may just be too late for that."

"Are - Are you saying my sister could die?" Bethany gasped, her wide eyes circling them all.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Sunshine. I've heard what happens to those that can't handle the intake anymore and those that can't handle kicking it. We're in for a rough ride, Hawke most of all."

Bethany's eyes slammed into Fenris, fixing him to the spot. Such expectancy in that gaze, as though she thought he could do something the rest of them could not. "I am aware of what lyrium is capable of doing to those that are naturally inclined to handle such a substance. As for Hawke," his shoulders lifted, his blank face still watching the table. He refused to let any of what he was feeling show on the surface. "Tell me."

Varric sighed once more and dragged his gaze across the table to Bethany. "Shakes, headaches, sweating, nausea-"

"Nothing she has not already been suffering."

"-Hallucinations, dementia, delirium, possibly even outright death."

The entire table went silent and Isabela's eyes widened as though she finally understand what they were talking about. She lifted her hand to her mouth, nibbling on her thumbnail.

"You don't understand," Varric shook his head, his gaze clouding as though remembering something from his past. "But you will. Hawke's body is in for a major shock. It isn't something that she can just sleep off."

Fenris spun away from them, his fingers itching to loose his blade. He was unaccustomed to facing things that he could not simply fight off. For years he'd been unable to handle the emotions brought to the surface regarding Danarius. When his memories overtook him, he'd run from Hawke, hoping she'd simply hate him. It was easier for him to accept that. And now... now, the first thing he'd done was lash out in anger instead of attempting to understand. But hearing Varric's words, listening to him speak of Meredith and what likely had been her plan all along, he could willingly admit that he was frightened. For the first time, he could admit this. He _did not_ like this emotion, or the bitter taste that accompanied it. Whatever he'd felt before, it was nothing compared to now and it was a feeling he found most unfamiliar, and uncomfortable. He was unseasoned with such things when it came to Hawke. She was not one that required worrying over or fretting of any fashion. It was one of the things he'd first found appealing - she was quite capable. Images of mages suffering from the toxicity of the substance rose to mind. Their worst fears had been brought to the surface and they were unable to tell reality from dream. Was that what they were to expect?

"Right now, Hawke is fine - clear headed, albeit a tad emotional. But when I went to speak with her, she informed me of another issue. She only has two bottles remaining."

The room spun and Fenris reached out, his clawed armor scarring into the table. Two bottles. She'd progressed into the state he found her today in four days. It seemed they were going to have to face this problem much sooner than he'd like.

"Once those are gone, Hawke isn't going to be thinking too clearly and we'll be docking in Llomerynn around then. No one can see the Champion in that state, and the Chantry _cannot_ hear about her. This must remain between us and she's going to need every bit of help from us that we can give."

Fenris' eyes rose to each and every one of them, silently daring them to deny her such a thing.

"What's the problem?" Isabela laughed nervously. "So we get her more lyrium. Keep our little kitten supplied and problem solved."

Fenris drew his lips back but Varric was the one to answer, shooting him a withering glance. "Not problem solved. Prolonged use is just as dangerous as coming off it. The Chantry doesn't speak of it much, but those that go into lyrium smuggling are most often retired templars that can't kick it. If we continued to feed her this stuff, her memory would go, soon she'd be unable to recognize us, unable to comprehend the waking world around her. She'd lose what makes her Hawke."

"You know an awful lot about this, dwarf," Fenris growled.

"I didn't know she was taking it, I swear," he grimaced. "I'd always been under the impression that the lyrium intake didn't start until they received their knighthood. I should have known Meredith would jump at the first chance to control her." He shook his head, his eyes dimming with sadness as he turned to glance down at his hands.

Fenris turned slowly, his gaze lifting to the corridor. Varric's words rang out in his head: _she's fine, clear headed_. He didn't utter another word, simply stalked off, heading toward their stateroom.

**-.-**

**The Support**

It was entirely too quiet in their cabin. He should have known Hawke would seek out better pastures. It was part of the reason that earlier he'd thought to look in their stateroom last. She was not one to be confined. Space to move, to breathe, to stretch, that was what she needed - like a shadow cat among the trees.

He took the stairs leading above deck two at a time, his fingers brushing over the railing as he moved. Anger still broiled under the surface - at her for keeping it a secret, the Chantry for requiring such a substance, Meredith for feeding it to her, and of course the mage that stole her mother away; the catalyst for this all.

He rounded the case and stepped out onto the deck, his steps slowing when she finally came into view. The sight of her, reposed against the railing, the salty sea air brushing through her hair, caught his breath. Since boarding Isabela's boat, she hadn't once donned her armor. It was not needed, though he found he could not simply remove his as easily as she did hers. For nearly a decade he'd covered himself in these spikes and plates, removing them only to clean or repair it. His armor was as much him as the markings branded into his flesh. But Hawke was not him.

His bare feet made little noise as he swept over the deck in her direction. The uneasy sensation coiling his stomach made it a bit difficult to think of what he would say. Hawke was addicted to lyrium - there was not much he _could _say about that, other than - "I told you once that if there was a future to be had at your side, I would gladly walk next to you."

Her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice and she slowly turned. It would seem she had taken care of herself in his absence; straightened her hair, washed her face, and dressed in fresh garments. It was nothing more than a thin blouse and dark leggings but he was aware of how they molded to her curves. Even her leather boots were different, stitched up to her knees as they were. Fenris was accustomed to Hawke looking dangerous, but never predatory, even as her blouse rippled in the warm sea breeze.

"And now?" she whispered, her mouth working her lip as she watched him.

Emotion darkened those eyes that were their own ocean, the white flecks that often swirled within dimming._ And now? _It was a good question. His vision faded as a memory came over him. Hawke had never left him, not in the three years it took for him to sort out his own personal issues. And when things had become dangerous with Danarius hunting him down, she'd shown no hesitation. She'd stood by his side as his former master tried to tear them apart and never once wavered. Now was his chance to show the same level of devotion. He could not imagine his life without her, nor did he wish to. He knew little of his past, but his future? She was all he ever saw. And it was enough.

He'd never been decent with words, so instead, he closed the distance between them and slid his arms around her waist, drawing her gently into his chest. She came so willingly, folding into him where she belonged until her head buried into that little nook she so adored. The coming days would be difficult, and he would need to calm his emotions and overcome this anger if he was to help her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her sweet breath brushing against his jaw. "I should have told you... I was just-"

"Scared?" he questioned, shifting until he could bury his lips into her air.

"Yes, Maker, yes. I can't lose you, Fenris. I-"

"I am going nowhere," he told her, his arms tightening against her to show his intent. "It will not be easy, but together we are stronger than apart."

_It will not be easy._ Truer words had never been spoken.


	2. Part 2

_A/N: The conclusion! WooHoo! Hopefully everyone enjoys and don't forget to let me know what you think!_

* * *

_part two_

_-.-_

**Fenris**

It wasn't the first, second, or even the third night that he was woken. The days had passed by much too quickly, with Hawke alert and aware, though by the second day, he'd begun to notice the return of her nausea. She'd chosen at that moment to throw the last vial overboard and he couldn't help but stare at her as she watched the crystal sink into the deep blue. By the third day, the more noticeable symptoms had reared their ugly head again. But the fourth night was when it began.

His eyes flashed open in the darkness to thrashing and Fenris immediately shot to his feet, his fingers curled around the leather hilt of his sword, even as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. It took a few moments, but eventually reality returned to him and he realized they weren't under attack - or rather, _he _wasn't. At least not in the way a sword could handle. It was a strange realization, that violence would not solve this problem.

His dug the sleep from his gritty eyes before letting them fall on Hawke's fitfully sleeping form, watching as she tossed and turned about, kicking back the covers. He reached for them, about to remove them entirely from the bed when he noticed she was shaking. Unaware of her movements, her hand fetched back into the sheets and she yanked them back up, sinking into them. A hard knot twisted her face, her lips pressed flat even in her sleep. But it was the glistening sheen of sweat slicked over her face that stole his breath. He'd seen many things in his time with Hawke, but never blue sweat. The sheets, her flesh, the pillows, all stained with little beryl dots.

Fenris sank to his knees by the bed and laid the back of his hand upon her cheek. Whatever dreams held her hostage, she hardly budged from the feel of him. Her skin blazed like its own fire, and his lips thinned with worry. He knew fevers were dangerous, he'd heard talk of many mages falling victim to it long before the other dangers could arrive.

Her eyes pinched and her lips parted. The faintest whimper spilled from her mouth, full of pain, and her body contracted, legs drawing up into her chest. She snatched at the air, panting heavily as she drew in long, stuttered breaths.

Fenris was at a loss. This was not something he was accustomed to. The war being waged was entirely internal and that realization was a bitter one. Never in his life had he ever faced something that his sword could not handle - at least not that he could remember. Escaping Danarius, fighting side by side with Hawke, it was all a different kind of struggle than this. He did not like feeling helpless, it reared too many issues that he didn't want to deal with. A foreign sensation wound through his stomach - a vulnerability that he did not like.

Memories surfaced and for the first time, he didn't turn away from them. Countless times he'd been punished by Danarius. He had always left Fenris a mindless lump upon the floor, his skin blistered and burning as his master ripped the lyrium from his flesh over and over, until Fenris begged him to stop. The only reprieve given had been when one of the other slaves took pity upon him and kept his skin damp and cool, while he recovered. Fenris could recall a time when Hawke had done the same for another of their companions. Sebastian had fallen ill and without Anders nearby to assist, she had kept a cold compress against his brow, to assist with the fever.

He rocked to his feet and stalked into their accompanying washroom. Their water was rationed, but Fenris was willing to spare some if it would ease Hawke's discomfort. She had a long way to go and he wished to help in any way possible.

After fumbling in the darkness for the bucket, he bit out a low curse before finally allowing his markings to light. Once, there'd been a time where this would have disgusted him. His bandings were vile scars, unworthy of anyone's attentions, yet everyone always gave it. He was the elf living in a borrowed mansion with odd tattoos spiring his body. Yet, Hawke had been the one to show him otherwise. She'd taught him there could be pleasure where once there'd only been pain. She'd taught him that his markings were as much a part of him as his bones - there was nothing intrinsically evil about them. Hate, she'd told him, was what held him hostage, kept him a slave, not the markings themselves. She'd helped him learn to overcome that and focus his anger on the right source. Danarius had died by use of these markings. It had helped. Fenris only hoped this was something he could do for Hawke.

His gently glowing hand clutched at a small rag and the bucket before returning to the bed. Hawke had buried her head deeper into the pillows, her lashes fluttering against her cheek as she struggled against whatever demons held her.

He paused by the edge of the bed, his gaze dragging over her tense form. Every inch of her was slick with sweat as she panted for air and it hurt his heart to see it. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he sucked in a deep breath and dropped back down onto the bed next to her. The cloth was quite a bit colder than her flushed skin and she flinched when he pressed it against her brow, slowly wiping away the darkened sheen. Time slowed as he attended to her, his bare fingers unwinding the tangled knots of her hair. Soon, it lay gleaming against the damp pillow and he continued to smooth it back, all the while cooling her face. It appeared to be working. Her thrashing eventually slowed, her breathing deepened, and her fingers unwound from their tight grip of the sheets.

Fenris let his head tip back until it rested against the wall, his hands still aimlessly working, and he let his thoughts drift away without pursuit. The ship continued to break through the waters, not four days from Llomerynn, and he focused on that instead. He and Varric had already entered discussions with Isabela as to how they were going to hide Hawke. There was concern, among them all. Llomerynn was a pirate port, which meant illegal substances and the people there to acquire it. Fenris was concerned that somehow Hawke would manage to get her hands on more lyrium. Though if her quickly depreciating state was evident of anything, she soon wouldn't be able to go off on her own.

He suffered a deep sigh and let his eyes close, turning his thoughts to the rocking of the ship. Now wasn't the time for such worries.

* * *

**Hawke**

Liquid agony poured through her, a series of spasms locking her muscles in place. They tore through her body, coiling with such strength that her back bowed off the bed, her neck straining under the tightened chords. Through thin lips, she sucked in a sharp breath, her clenched teeth slowing the stream, as she fought against the swelling waves of torment threatening to drown her. Clawed fingers twisted into the surrounding sea of sheets, and tears seeped from the lids she held squeezed shut. Sleep was a whisper of a dream and she knew it wouldn't return, not as another bout of pure torture scoured its way through her, before tearing out of her throat in an uncontrollable scream. Her eyes snapped wide and she gripped at the coverlets until it shredded beneath her white-knuckled fingers.

She couldn't breathe - couldn't... her chest was on fire, the air she managed to suck in barely enough to fill her lungs. Her body locked down, her arms and legs suddenly too heavy to even shift against the bed. She was trapped.. _trapped!_

"Breathe, darling," a gentle voice whispered in her ear. It was so familiar, but her neck was so tight she couldn't even move to ensure it really was _her_.

"Can't-" she finally choked out, her teeth slashing through her lower lip as she struggled for a full breath. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and for a moment she thought she might choke on it until it spilled over her lips and trailed down her chin.

"Shh," a gentle voice caroled to her, soft fingers gently pushing the mop of hair back from her brow. "I'm here, sweetheart. It'll pass, just breathe."

"Mom-" she whimpered, her voice cracking under the strain of her body.

She couldn't do this! Couldn't fight this off. The withdrawal would continue to break down her body and mind until she was nothing more than a husk of what she once was. She didn't want that! "Fenris," she sobbed, her body trembling from her tears as much as the spasms. "Where's Fenris?"

"Shh," her mother crooned to her, shifting until Hawke was cast into shadow. "I'm here, darling. I'll help you get through this."

With her mother's hand caressing her brow, the spasms slowly began to abate, and in their wake remained a trembling ache that was hardly noticeable next to the brume of pain clouding her mind. Sweat dotted her brow and ran down her cheek, pooling in the hollow of her throat.

Hawke stared up at the ceiling, counting her breaths now that her body was allowing them. Slowly, she returned to normal, whatever that was, and she blinked, her mother's face contorting and shifting to one much more masculine and oh-so familiar. Able to move her limbs once more, Hawke lifted her arms and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, her staggered breath warming her palms.

"Hawke," Fenris called her name. "Hawke, _please_, answer me!"

His voice was laced with pain, something she couldn't recall having ever heard before. Her hands fell away from her face and she met his stare. She'd been sure her mother had been here, it'd been her voice, her words, her face, but all a hallucination. Bethany had mentioned that might happen, but Hawke had never thought it would be her mother.

"Fenris," she moaned into her fist the moment her stomach recoiled. She scrambled to throw back the coverlets, only her body refused to obey. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes with frustration. She couldn't even move her legs!

"Hawke," Fenris murmured, helping free her from the snarl of blankets. "What-"

She rolled off the bed, dropping to her knees, but that was as far as she got. Her back bowed as her stomach expelled whatever little amounts of food she'd ingested the past couple of days. Her sickness splattered against the floor but it didn't stop and her tears spilled over cheeks.

Calloused fingers swiped at her hair, pulling it back from her face and she shrank lower, wishing desperately to just vanish into oblivion. Anything, even death, had to better than this.

"Pathetic," a sharp voice startled her.

Stomach now barren, Hawke dragged herself over to the wall, her breath catching at the sight of Anders leaning against the far wall, his glare burning through her. He looked exactly as she remembered - those topaz eyes searing as he stared. He shifted his weight, clearly favoring his back, and a curtain of roguish golden hair slid around his face. A shadow took shape next to him but when the familiar face of her father took shape, Hawke slammed her eyes shut and whispered fervidly under her breath.

"Disgusting," Anders hissed, his voice carrying easily across the room.

"I thought I taught you better than this, Marian," her father sighed. "You should have known better. A templar? After everything you saw them do in Lothering? After they killed me? You actually joined their ranks?"

"Blood mages," Hawke whispered weakly, pushing the heels of her hands back into her eyes, as though trying to rub away the sight before her. "Blood mages. Killed mother."

"Couldn't even protect her. You let the templars kill me, let a blood mage kill your mother, you killed Anders. So disappointed in you."

"The blade slid through me like butter, didn't it?" Anders voice was full of ire. "Vile little bitch. Did the blood dry on your hands? Did you think I wouldn't know what you did, thought I wouldn't see? You ran back to the arms of your lover after, didn't you? Pretended like everything was alright? Like you weren't stained by my death? Like it was nothing!"

A tormented whimper fell past her lips and she drew her knees up to her chest, burying her head in the small niche she created.

"Now look at you," her father continued, his voice deep and cruel. "Nothing more than a waste -"

"_Hawke!_" Hands grasped at her arms and gently shook her.

Her head jerked up and her eyes flashed open, suddenly seeing through some haze that she hadn't noticed holding her hostage. The room was different now, brighter and warmer. Time had passed, she just didn't know how _much_. "Fenris?" she whispered, her heart leaping into her mouth.

A breath brushed over her cheek as he gently pulled her to her feet and into his chest. "You're back," was all he said, though even his arms trembled a little as they closed around her.

"Where did I go?" she mumbled, her thoughts far too muddled to understand what all was happening.

"Elf, we need to dock. Is she alright to travel?"

Hawke lifted slitted eyes and peered through that fog to find a short, oddly shaped man standing in the doorjamb. He turned his face toward her, lips spreading into a wide smile that stretched unnaturally across his face. Hawke sucked in a breath and curled away from Fenris. Both watched her with eyes like demons, slitted and scarlet. "No," she panted, her fingers fetching into her hair as she shook her head. "_No, no, no_."

"You deserve no better," her mother appeared next to her, a hardened gaze landing on Hawke's face. "Do you know what that mage did to me?" her words slithered past her lips. "He cut me, baby, limb by limb. You were too late-"

"Go away!" Hawke shrieked, slamming into the furthest wall and burying her face in her hands.

"Marian?" a softer voice this time.

Hawke cracked her lids open to peer through her fingers. Her heart soared at the sight of her sister, face creased with worry. "Bethany," she sobbed. "Don't, please. I can't - can't... Mother, father -"

"What'd you expect, sister?" this voice was deeper and Hawke stiffened, her eyes swinging to the side to find Carver standing next to Fenris, fingers trailing over the elf's spiked armor. Fenris appeared ignorant to her brother, his eyes all for her. So many people crowding the room, yet very few acknowledged each other. "You think they've come to help you?" he laughed cruelly, his lips crooking into a sneer. "You don't _deserve _to be helped. Not after everything you've done. They're going to leave you, just as you did to me in the Deep Roads. Those creatures fed on my corpse for days, sister, tearing strip after strip from my body, devouring my flesh, lapping up my -"

_"STOP!"_ she howled, her knees bowing beneath her as she slid down the wall. "I'm sorry!"

Warm fingers brushed against her cheek but she didn't look up. She couldn't. She couldn't see them anymore, couldn't hear their voices...

"Do it," she heard a deep voice order before the faint smell of magic lifted around her.

"Don't leave me," Hawke sobbed, her tears wetting her arms as she cried into them. "Don't leave me. Don't-" Darkness stole her words.

* * *

**Fenris**

"Andraste's ass, elf! Has she been this bad the entire time?" Varric demanded.

Fenris sighed and dropped down onto the mattress. He raked a hand down his face, flicking a glance to Bethany as she cast her sister into a deep sleep. "No. It's getting progressively worse. This has been happening for about two days. One moment she's perfectly calm and still, and the next she's talking to people that aren't here."

"Delirium," Bethany whispered as she rose to her feet, wiping her own tears from her cheeks. "I've heard of it with some of the templars."

Hawke was recumbent upon the floor, her eyes fluttering as she succumbed to whatever dreams plagued her. He nodded to Bethany as he rubbed out his eyes.

"You need to sleep, elf," Varric told him, stepping across the room to drop his hand down on Fenris' shoulder.

"A little difficult to do that when there's a crazed woman ranting in your room," he tried for humor, but winced at his own words. It wasn't a laughing matter. Not at all. Especially when he'd caught her speaking with Anders. He'd known there'd been something between them in the time that he and Hawke were estranged. It had never developed into anything because Hawke feared all that Anders was, but there was still something. To hear her speaking with him, even though the mage was dead, Fenris' head had spun with that one. But the worst was hearing her sob for her mother. He'd been there for her when Leandra was taken, he knew the pain Hawke had suffered from that blow. This entire issue stemmed from it.

"It's going to get even worse than this," Bethany told him. "The talk I've heard. Fenris, maybe we should strap her down?"

He jerked at her words, his eyes narrowing on Hawke's sister. "No." He would never do that to her, not after being collared himself.

"You just want to let her wander around? What if she finds more lyrium?"

Fenris sighed, and tipped his head back against the frame of the poster bed.

"She's in no condition to even know where to find it. The Chantry has the lyrium trade locked down. I doubt even the pirates know where to get it," Varric informed them.

"Do not underestimate the Armada. I will watch over her," Fenris informed them. "But we will not strap her down."

"She's talking to dead people, Fenris!" Bethany cried out. "I don't like the thought of restraining her either but-"

"No," Fenris growled, bearing his teeth. He rocked to his feet and approached Hawke, staring down at the lump that used to be one of the strongest people he'd known. He would find her again. Nothing will stop him from getting her through this.

He dropped to his knees next to her, fingers smoothing back the knotted damp hair. For once, she looked almost peaceful, but he knew appearances could be deceiving. The cloak Varric had brought draped over her and he tucked it in before lifting her from the ground. Without her armor, he'd forgotten how lithe and light she was.

As one, they moved for the door. He only hoped Llomerynn didn't make matters worse.

-.-

It'd been a little over a week since he'd last seen land and most of it had been spent in their stateroom, ensuring Hawke did not injure herself further. Fenris was exhausted. When she wasn't thrashing about, sobbing in pain, or trembling in a corner, she was speaking with people not physically present. The second half of the trip had been taxing. Even now, he could hardly look up from her to take in the site of Llomerynn around them. He knew it was the port where the Armada made dock and that was part of the reason Isabela had insisted they come here. The Chantry likely wouldn't be able to sift through all the seedy people of this island to find them.

"I can take her, if you want," a low voice muttered in his ear.

Fenris' chin jerked up to find Isabela standing next to him, clad in her typical gear. A knot twisted in his stomach. Could the woman wear nothing appropriate? She was going to attract far too much attention to them and that was the last thing they needed.

His lips drew back in a sneer and he shook his head, correcting Hawke's position before taking to the ramp.

"Come on, lover boy," she pressed. "If we need fighters, we both know you shouldn't be tied down with Hawke."

"I am fine," he growled. He would not trust her with anyone else. He'd never admit it aloud, but he rather liked the sight of her thin fingers tangled within his jerkin, as though she was clutching to him. Her lips moved in her sleep, shaping the names of those she dreamed of and a thrill of pleasure warmed his stomach when he realized his name was most predominant.

"Fine," Isabela pouted. "Hog her to yourself, I suppose nothing's changed."

"Enough," Varric mumbled before leading the way.

It was through contacts of his that they'd acquired a place to stay and Fenris could only assume that was the direction he led them in now.

"Is Hawke going to be alright?" a soft voice questioned next to him.

Fenris' gaze slid lengthwise to find Merrill watching Hawke with wide eyes, her lips thinned with fear. He'd never been a fan of the blood mage but he could relate to the trepidation sketched into her face. "She will," he promised her. "In time."

"I-I'm not used to seeing her like this," Merrill continued, her voice wavering. "She's always so strong, my lethallan."

"She still is," he told her. "If she wasn't, she wouldn't be here, fighting it off."

Merrill nodded before lifting her eyes to his. "And she has you. I think you have more than enough strength for the both of you."

Fenris' feet faltered and he fell still even as she continued onward. The blood mage had never said such a thing to him before.

"Is everything alright?" Bethany questioned, coming flush to him.

Fenris lowered his head and forced himself onward, following after Varric. "How long will she remain asleep?"

Bethany's eyes dropped down onto her sister, her mouth bowing with displeasure. "It depends. On someone... healthy -" Fenris winced. "-I'd say another four hours or so. Hawke, she's always done her own thing, though. At least two hours, I'd think."

He nodded and pushed toward Varric, ignoring the slight burn working through his arm muscles. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't hand her over to anyone else.

"How long till we arrive?"

Varric shot him a look. "It isn't far. I wanted to stay close to the boat in case we need to make an escape. It's only a bit further."

Relief unwound his tight stomach, and with a nod, they continued through the gently sloped streets. Fenris was mindful of the many eyes watching them. Llomerynn was a dangerous place, he was well aware of that. As a group, it was unlikely they would be stopped, but if Kirkwall had taught him anything, it was that the gangs never stopped to estimate their chances of survival.

"You need to sleep, elf," Varric interrupted his analysis of the teeming streets. "You won't be any good to Hawke exhausted. If Sunshine's right, and this sleep spell lasts a few hours, you should take advantage of it."

Fenris didn't respond, he simply kept pace with the dwarf. Sleeping was not an option, but he could feel the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, and clouding his thoughts. "We will see," was all he said.

* * *

**Hawke**

A yawning chasm crumbled beneath her feet, the toothy blackness rising to devour her. Perched on the edge, she stared down into the pit and trembled. She knew what was down there: despair, obsession... death. She wanted nothing more to do with it. But with every step back, the edge dissolved away, chunks of the earth tumbling into the abyss. And at her back was a wall. There was only so much further she could creep away until the world just fell away beneath her.

Fear coated thickly upon her tongue as the stark hand of death settled over her throat. The faintest song rose from the murky depths, caroling through her mind until she went deaf. It was the sweetest harmony she'd ever heard, kindling her blood. She knew this song, had heard the tuneless melody every time she touched her lips to the crystalline vials, every time the thick liquid filled her mouth. The temptation to taste it again made her quiver. She _needed _it. What made her think she could do this? Why was she doing this to herself? One more wouldn't hurt. It would clear her thoughts, steady her hands - _steady her hands_.

They hovered before her face, shivering fitfully. Her sword... _Bassrath-Kata_... given to her by the qunari. Would she ever be able to hold it again? It felt like this torment was eternal. And she just wanted it to... _end_. She wanted it to be finished.

She forced her heavy-lidded eyes open, the staunch sconces too faint to see by. Awake, asleep, she didn't know and couldn't tell. The edges of the world were frayed and blurred, and covered in a vaporous amethyst. And rising through the fog was that blighted song - it wouldn't ebb. A slithering hiss wound through her thoughts as the music rippled under her skin, like waves crashing against a cliff. There was no chasm here, no jagged teeth ready to tear into her, no - but there _was _something else.

Through the muted hint of light, the haunting melody drew her from where she lay and to her knees. It called her name, whispered it within the undertone, urging her forward. She crept forward sluggishly, her hands barely able to support her. And when the sight of _it _came into view, her breath caught and her mouth dried. She knew those whorling silvered markings, and could practically taste them as she slunk forward. One touch, that was all it would take, she knew that. One touch... and they would ignite and she could be at peace again. She gave no thought as to _why_ there was lyrium so nearby, only that she must have it.

Her hands swept across the hard floor, pushing stray bits of what appeared to be armor out of the way. None of it was familiar to her, all she knew was the song, all she wanted was calm.

She pushed upward, rising on her knees and draping her arms over something soft. Feathered ivory hair caught her eye, but it meant little. Not when the swirling bands drew her gaze once more. She could hear them singing, calling her name, tempting her with the sweet taste. And how she wanted them. Words whispered through her mind, telling her to just reach out and take it. Her fingers slid over something warm, ignorant to the tensing muscles. She would have it.

* * *

**Fenris**

Warmth grazed his arm and Fenris' eyes shot open, confused for a moment at the sight of the thatched roof. Lost to the straw vegetation hovering above him, he startled again when that same warmth dragged down the swell of his arm. His head lolled against the pillow and when Hawke came into sight, hovering over him with an almost feral glint to her eyes, he propelled himself over the far edge of the bed, rising slowly to find her face twisted with confusion. Her eyes were clouded, her lips pressed tight, nose scrunched.

"Hawke," he called her name, his voice a bit breathy from the shock of finding her hovering over him.

A twitch, nothing more than that. Hawke wasn't here right now. Her throat worked as she furiously struggled to swallow and then she was climbing over the bed, crawling through the covers and reaching for him once more. His brows snapped down, and his hands fell on her shoulders, holding her at bay. What was this?

It wasn't until her fingers sealed over the length of his fingers that everything clicked. Cursing, Fenris released her and staggered back into the wall. His heart was pounding now as he made the connection. The lyrium. Why hadn't he _thought_ about that? Of course she would begin to crave his markings, just as Danarius had, and all the filthy mages his master had surrounded himself with.

She continued toward him, her movements jerky and unreliable. Small whimpers flooded the air as she reached for him again and again, though he was always just out of reach.

"Hawke," he tried again, his voice gruff with sleep.

Something flickered behind her eyes and Fenris stilled, watching as she struggled to understand what was happening. This was different. The past few days she'd been completely incoherent. But now... there was a light behind her eyes, faded and dim, but it was there.

"Hawke," he whispered, still flat against the wall in his effort to keep them apart. He didn't enjoy holding such a distance from her, especially when her face crumpled in pain and a faint cry fell from her lips. He _wanted_ to be there for her, but he couldn't let her draw on his lyrium.

His pulse threaded with the thought. The last thing he wanted was to suffer under another that only wanted him purely for his markings. Part of him _knew_ Hawke didn't want him for that, but the other part only saw Danarius. And when his markings flared in defence, he bit out a low epithet and stalked clear across the room.

She whimpered under the strength of the blinding light, her hand physically rising to shield her from it. So... she _was_ here this time. Previously, it hadn't mattered what events occurred within the room, she'd been deaf and blind to all of it.

She slid from the bed, her steps clumsy and awkward but stronger than anything he'd seen from her recently. Her gaze trailed his flickering markings, her tongue dampening her lips as she stalked toward him. His chest hitched and he slid further away. What was he supposed to do here? He didn't want to _hurt _Hawke, but he couldn't allow her to do this.

"Hawke!" he shouted a little louder, before clapping his hands, hoping to startle her out of this vision. There it was again, a flash of awareness. He felt useless, running from her. But what else was there? "Come back to me," he called gently just as her hands fell on him.

His fingers clenched into tight fists. If he had to, he would do it. But striking her was not something he would enjoy. Her fingers fell on his flesh, tracing the bands, her eyes aglow with want.

"Hawke," he said in a quieter voice, daring to touch her face. He tilted her face back until finally those hazed eyes connected with his. "Come on. You can do this. You do not want to taste me, you know that."

Her face pinched, her brows slowly lowering. Something surged in Fenris' chest and he nodded, tightening his grip to keep her entranced on his face and not his markings.

"F-Fenris," his name spilled from her lips in a faint breath, barely audible. But he caught it.

"Hawke," he grumbled, his voice thick with desperation. "Are you with me?"

She blinked, her lashes fluttering. Seconds later the haze cleared and bright eyes stared up at him. Fenris thought to celebrate, rejoice that he had brought her out of it, but she took that moment to throw herself to the ground, curling into a ball in the nearest corner. Startled, Fenris held his position and watched in horror as she buried her face into her knees, mumbling incoherently under her breath. For a moment, he wondered if he'd made it worse, but words began to fill the space between them, words that he could understand for once. For the first time, they were directed at him, not lyrium ghosts.

"Don't let me," she told him in a cracked voice. "Don't let me. Don't make me. Don't - don't - don't..."

"Hawke?" he murmured, though he did not go to her. That would likely only worsen matters.

"Fenris, just - just stay there," she whispered, her fingers fisting in her hair and she pulled, whimpering from the pain she caused herself. "I don't want... I don't want it, I don't, I don't..."

Understanding what was happening, Fenris straightened. "I'll get Bethany," he told her. "She can stay with you tonight."

Being in her presence was likely only injuring her. And that realization did not have a pleasant taste. The understanding that he was only adding to her trouble twisted his stomach.

"Fenris!" she gasped, her head jerking up just as he was about to leave.

He stopped dead where he stood and half-turned, eyes wide with shock at her panicked reaction to him leaving. Her fingers had wound around his arm, but she managed to extract them, without _pulling_ on his lyrium, and before yanking him back. Not that it mattered any. His hands were there, catching hers in his long digits, carefully winding them together, hoping to slow the trembles that shook them. He shouldn't have touched her, not with this temptation still plaguing her, but for some reason, he couldn't _not_.

"I-I don't..." she babbled, turning alarmed eyes up toward him. She was cognizant, and his heart thumped with hope that she was coming out of it. She blinked again, forcing back whatever shadows haunted her. "I won't use you," she swore, though he felt like it was more of a promise to herself than him. "No - no, not Danarius, not like _them_." She snatched her fingers back into the ball she'd forced herself into and turned her face away from him, staring into the far wall, rocking back and forth. "Sing all you want, little bird, I'm not listening."

Her voice was so strong there, so willful. Fenris did the only thing he could think to, he left.

-.-

He'd managed a little sleep, enough that he could physically open his eyes but not even remotely enough to feel refreshed. The whole night, he'd been haunted by his guilt. He shouldn't have left her but really he'd been given little other option. The lyrium burned under his flesh was a temptation, one Hawke could not handle at the moment. Just another thing for him to thank Danarius for. What has magic touched that it hasn't spoiled? If only Danarius or Quentin were alive right now, he'd tear their hearts from their chests.

The door creaked open and Fenris lifted his head to find Bethany creeping into the room.

"How is she?" he growled as he pushed to his feet.

"Better," Bethany murmured gently. "I don't mean she's completely better. But she's definitely on the right path. Whatever happened between you two last night, it seems to have given her a bit more strength and willfulness. We had a rough spot where I listened to a very painful conversation with our father, but she came out of it quickly. She's resting now, and has asked to see you."

His eyes narrowed. Hawke _asked _to speak with him? "She is aware?"

Bethany nodded, her hand rising to cover her mouth as she yawned. "I don't know much about addiction, but I'd say she's on the path to getting better." Bethany's relief was palpable, and Fenris found himself wanting to believe it.

Elation surged through him and he stalked past Bethany, reaching for the door.

"Fenris," she called. He paused with his hand on the knob and turned. "She'll never be over this, you know? Lyrium will always tempt her."

His mouth dried but he didn't answer. All last night, he tormented himself with these thoughts, that he would be more harm than good to her. Certainly, it wouldn't be easy to relinquish every last desire for lyrium, but he had faith that if anyone was strong enough to handle any type of craving, it would be Hawke.

He dipped his head and stalked out of the room, his armor scarring against the wood of his and Hawke's door. He pushed it open, his gaze falling on a quiet woman tucked gently in their bed. She was so still, for a moment he wondered... But then her head turned and bright, albeit exhausted, eyes swung to him. A faint smile claimed her lips, only an imitation of the dazzling grin he knew she was capable of, but at this moment he'd take it.

"Hi," she whispered, her elbows gathering beneath her to push herself up.

Fenris took a step toward her, intending to help, but he paused. "Am I... does it hurt to have me here?"

That smile grew and it settled something in his stomach to see it. "I can handle it."

"Just like that?" he asked, dubiously.

"No," she gave a watery chuckle. "Not just like that. But I know I can. After last night... Fenris I need to apologize."

He balked, his mouth falling open. _She _was apologizing to _him_? He was the one that had run, he was the one with the lyrium, he -

"I want you to know that I don't see you as a... source," she murmured. "I have no desire to use you like that, I would never-" her voice cracked and Fenris crossed the room toward her, unable to keep away any longer.

"I know," he told her in a quiet voice. "When you realized what was happening, you stopped..." he sighed, daring to let his fingers touch the lump that was her foot under the covers.

"I don't remember much. But I wanted to thank you..."

"Do not thank me," he grumbled, his fingers tightening with the words. "I would do much more than this for you, Hawke."

Her face softened and she leaned back into the pillow. Her face was writhen and craggily, Fenris could see how tired she was. A sigh escaped her lips and he watched as a shaking hand swept the hair back from her face.

"You are not entirely well."

"No," she admitted. "But I will be. I just need-"

"To rest," he told her. "I will not bother you further."

He turned and moved toward the door when he heard, "You are never a bother, Fenris."

With his back to her, his lips spread into a calm smile. Perhaps now, he could sleep.

-.-

_One Month Later_

"Fenris," she said his name in nothing more than a whisper, rousing him from his slumberous state.

He shifted on the bed with a low hum, his arms immediately reaching for her. She settled into the crook of his shoulder, but her fingers fetched beneath the covers, tracing over his thigh before toying with his length.

His eyes snapped wide, and his head lolled over the pillow until she filled his sight. For someone who was supposed to be asleep, she looked quite alert. His brows drew down as the tips of her fingers continued their repetitive path.

"You should be sleeping," he cautioned her, though his voice did sound a bit strained.

She latched onto that, her teeth setting into her lower lip as she pushed up, the sheets pooling lazily around her stomach. It drew his attention and his gaze swept over her pale skin, lit by the moonbeams pouring through the small window above them.

"I should be, but I'm not," she mused with a slight shrug, before lifting playful eyes toward him.

For a few weeks now, they'd been sharing their bed again without any episodes. But the last thing Fenris wanted was to push her beyond her limits, so he'd been very careful about where he placed his hands or how he held her. It would appear that Hawke had grown tired of such calculations, if the fiendish look sculpting her face proved anything.

"Hawke, perhaps we shouldn't-" his breath caught when her legs suddenly framed his lap and she lowered down onto him.

He wasn't spared a moment before her smooth lips fell on his. A sleep-thickened tongue slipped within his mouth, tangling desperately with his. He could feel her pressing against him, her fingers climbing his naked flesh, curling over his arms as she devoured him.

"Hawke," he mumbled against her, his fingers digging into her hips. He knew this was an obstacle they would have to overcome eventually, but his preference was for later. Much later. She hadn't suffered any episodes in quite a long time and not a few weeks back, her shakes had ceased. He was no longer woken in the night by her pained cries as cramps stole her from him, but that didn't mean she was ready for this.

Her lips vanished from his and pressed against his neck, her tongue laving against his flesh. His breath caught, his hands flexing against her. He intended to guide her off, figure out exactly what was happening, but at that moment, her teeth latched around the tip of his ear. He jerked beneath her, his eyes flying wide from the pleasure rippling under his skin. Light flickered from his markings and with a groan, Hawke sank into him, her tongue swirling around the lambent swirls.

"Hawke," he gasped, his voice heavy with desperation. He knew she couldn't _taste_ the lyrium under his flesh but the concern was still there. There was so little they knew about withdrawal. Was she truly over it? Or would this simply exacerbate things again. The last thing he wanted was for her to fall into that loathed pit she'd told him about.

"Fenris," she begged, her breath pooling against his throat.

"Are you sure that is wise?"

"Please," she entreated, and his heart tightened at the meek sound of her voice. "Please, Fenris." She rose up and settled against his lap, gently rolling her hips over him. "It's been far too long and I _want_ you."

He struggled to find words, his head falling back against the wall, eyes falling shut. Only a thin sheath of cloth separated them and for some reason he couldn't remember why it was there.

"Fenris." His eyes flashed open at the sound of his name. He'd never heard it uttered so sensually and his mouth went dry. His tongue flicked over his lips and Hawke swept down over him, claiming it in a searing kiss that left him breathless.

He shouldn't, some part of his brain knew that. But he couldn't think past the feel of her warm skin pressed against him. Her fingers slid under the sheet, fetching against him once more before working him in an achingly slow pace. She wasn't the only one suffering. Most nights, he succumbed to dreams of her mouth and her skin, burying himself into her until she cried his name around him. It had been far too long.

"Please." The word fell into his mouth and he swallowed it.

A growl tore free of his throat as his fingers clutched at Hawke and lifted her before tearing the sheet away. An arm around his neck and before he could even shift their position, her other hand found him and she slid over him, spearing herself on his length.

Fenris' breath caught from the suddenness, but she allowed him no time to find his words. She stole his mouth once more, her tongue delving within as she began to rise above him, before lowering once more. Her hips guided her every movement, rolling sinuously against him, slowly pumping herself atop of him.

With one hand twisting into her hair, he drew her mouth to his once more, determined to taste her again. He could feel his skin warming, as it often did when getting intimate with Hawke. But the last thing he wanted was his markings to flare up. He was quite sure that would only cause her pain.

She rose above him, those deliciously rounded breasts hovering in his face. Fenris' hand found them instantly, his fingers rolling over her perfectly erect nipples. Her breath shuddered and she arched back, offering every bit of her to him.

His throat tightened as he struggled to swallow, but desire overcame him and he swept down on her, his mouth sealing around those taut buds. Fingers tightened on his shoulders, her moan dragging a similar one from his lips.

Lambent light suddenly flooded the room and Fenris tore his mouth free of her breast, cursing under his breath. She straightened, still thrusting down on him, though her eyes scoured his markings, his brow slightly creased.

"Hawke," he whispered. "We can stop - if you need to, we can -"

"Shh," she hummed softly, dropping over him, her fingers locking into his hair. "Don't worry about me. I can handle it."

"But-"

"Fenris," she snapped gently.

His eyes rolled up to hers.

"I _want_ you," she told him firmly, her gaze burning with desire. "I will be fine. The music isn't quite so loud anymore."

He knew what that meant, she'd explained the addicting song that she could hear when lyrium was around. Her jaw set the moment she caught sight of the stubborn line of his lips.

Rising off him, she dropped down onto the bed and watched him with shameless eyes. "Do you not want me?"

A growl ripped free of Fenris' throat and he chased after her, filling her with his length once more. Her back bowed off the bed, her teeth sucking her lower lip into her mouth.

"Festis bei umo canavarum," he grunted in her ear, his face buried into her shoulder as he set a quick pace that had her gasping. Her fingers twisted into the sheets, and Fenris took pleasure in the fact that it was due to bliss and not pain. His lips carved a path from her neck down to her breast, where he claimed them once more, his pack quickening. The catch of her breath had to be the most erotic sound he'd ever heard and he continued to move within her, listening to each and every one.

"Fenris," she gasped against him just seconds before her mouth clamped around the tip of his ear.

He bucked wildly against her, a sudden ecstasy overwhelming his mind with the exquisite thought that she was Hawke again. She was _his_ again. Incoherent words rose from her mouth and he paused for a moment to listen, to ensure what she was begging for. Her pleads were enticing; for him to go faster, and just a little harder. He lost himself within her, his breath splaying over her flesh and he dropped into her again and again.

Pale thighs clamped around his waist and suddenly, she was meeting him halfway, drawing his entire length into her, all the while her head tossed back against the bed, eyes screwed shut with desire. The sound of their bodies meeting spurred a fresh bout of speed from him and he drove into her just as she begged.

He could feel her tightening, her body clamping around him as they lost themselves in one another. He rose up in time to watch as her mouth fell open and a startled cry filled the room, a tuneless song that he'd thought he'd forgotten. Mindless want pushed him further and he pinned her again, his own release coming upon him. The sound of her crying out his name, the feel of her fingers locking against his shoulder, the sight of her gasping for air and twisting around him finally pushed him over the edge. It was one he willingly fell into, his movements erratic as he poured everything he had into her.

He dropped down over her, his head burying against her neck while both struggled to catch their breath. The light within the room dimmed and his heart began to slow. But it was the sound of Hawke chuckling beneath him that drew his head back up. She looked... deliriously happy. She looked... content.

"Thank you," she laughed.

Fenris' lips twisted with humor. "Believe me, _thank you_."

She might always suffer under the temptations and cravings, but Fenris knew at that moment, she had the strength to bear such a burden.

.

.

.

**FIN**


End file.
